I Can See You

Chapter Fourteen

Wednesday, February 24, 3:15 a.m.

Noah answered Eve’s call on his cell. “I don’t know anything yet,” he said.

“I do,” she said quietly.

Noah slowed his car to a stop, a block from the address he’d drawn. “Tell me.”

“I found Rachel’s address.” It was the one Olivia was checking at this very moment.

“How?” he asked. In her voice he heard defeat and he knew. Too late.

“I had their Socials. We paid them a small study stipend and needed the Socials for tax purposes. I ran a background check and found the Rachel we’re looking for.”

“But?”

“There’s a black wreath on her door in Shadowland. We’re too late, Noah.”

“You stay put,” he ordered. “And stop feeling guilty. I’ll call you when I can.”

“Okay,” she whispered. “I’m sorry.”

“Yeah. Me, too.” No sooner had he hung up than his phone vibrated again. Olivia. “You found her,” he said dully.

“I’m looking at an open window, second story. How did you know?”

“Eve found her dead in the game. Call CSU. I’ll be there in under fifteen.”

“And Jack?”

Noah put his car into gear. “Still not answering his phone.”

“Noah, we have to call Abbott. You can’t keep covering for Jack.”

“I know. Don’t go in without me. Last time he used a poisonous snake.”

“More fun and games,” she said bitterly. “This guy’s a vile piece of shit.”

Olivia was waiting for him in front of Rachel’s house. Jack was nowhere to be found.

“I think it’ll be easier to get in through the back door,” Olivia said.

It took only one thrust of his shoulder. “Police,” Noah called, weapon drawn.

“Do you smell something burning?” Olivia murmured.

“Yeah. That’s new.” He lowered his weapon as he entered Ward’s bedroom. There she hung, like all the others. Right down to the shoes.

“Her eyes,” she whispered. This was her first time seeing it in person. There was something about the victims’ eyes that didn’t get captured in the crime scene photos. She touched Rachel’s arm, then whirled, her own eyes wide. “Noah, she’s still warm.”

Noah was there in two steps. “She’s been here maybe an hour,” he said.

“If that.” Her round blue eyes flashed fury. “A car was leaving the neighborhood, just as I was driving in. Brown Civic. I missed him. If I’d been a few minutes faster…”

Frustration clawed. Dammit, if Jack had answered… He let himself finish the thought. This woman would be alive and we’d have a killer in custody.

“He wasn’t driving a brown Civic when he followed Christy Lewis home,” he said tightly. “But changing cars could be his newest up-yours.”

“I remember his plate number. I’ll call it in.”

While she did, Noah dialed Micki, who was on her way. “We have another.”

“Any snakes this time?” Micki asked and Noah crouched to check Rachel’s ankles.

His stomach lurched. “No. It appears Miss Ward was afraid of fire.”

Olivia finished calling in the BOLO on the brown Civic and crouched next to him, her pretty face twisted in a horrified grimace.

“Aw, hell, Web,” she murmured.

“What did he burn?” Micki asked.

Noah swallowed hard at the sight of Rachel Ward’s blistered flesh. “Her feet.”

Wednesday, February 24, 4:15 a.m.

“I thought I smelled something burning,” David said, leaning over the stove where Eve had left a scorched pot. “You’ll never get this clean. What were you trying to cook?”

“Cocoa.” Coffee had become too much for her churning stomach. Rachel was dead. We were too late. “I got distracted when I was making the first batch and it scorched.”

He took the mug next to her elbow and tasted it. “Not bad.”

“You’re not the only one who can make stuff,” she muttered. “So make your own.”

He took another sip instead. “Where’d you get the recipe?”

“Internet.” She took her mug, sloshing hot cocoa over the sides. “Go back to bed.”

“Can’t. I wake up when I smell stuff burning. I’m a firefighter, remember?” He said it teasingly but she didn’t smile. “Spill it.” He was serious now. “Tell me what’s going on.”

She haltingly obeyed, starting with Buckland and the photos, ending with Rachel. David’s face had darkened through her story. “Does the fact that this Buckland asshole pops up at the same time as a serial killer bother anyone but me?”

“No, it bothers Noah, too. Buckland’s officially on the radar. But Buckland’s been reporting for a couple years. Local color, obituaries. That he’d suddenly start killing people…” She shrugged. “I’m too tired to think.”

“Then go to bed, honey. I’ll take the couch.”

“No, I can’t sleep. I can’t stop thinking about Rachel and the others.”

“Not your fault,” he said softly, tilting her chin up. “What happened with Webster?”

“Nothing.”

He sat back, brows lifted. “So… did he kiss you yet?”

His tone was so engagingly nosy, she might have smiled. But the thought of that kiss in the bar, so… proprietary. So necessary. So impossible. Her eyes stung. “Stop.”

“Stop what, Evie? Stop trying to keep you from making a big mistake? I have seen you through too much to let you hide again.”

Misery stepped aside for blessed anger. “I am not hiding. Not anymore.”

“You think just because you’re not holed up in Dana’s shelter anymore that you’re not hiding? Give me one good reason you’ve written Webster off. And don’t tell me it’s because he’s too old, because he’s my age and I’ll have to hurt you.”

She let out a long, quiet breath. “You know why.”

He stared at her in contrary confusion, and then his expression changed again to one of devastated understanding. “Oh, Evie. You can’t possibly…”

“No, I can’t,” she said, twisting his meaning.

“That’s not fair to Webster, or to any other man who might care about you. He might not even want kids. Especially at his age.”

“I thought you were his age,” she said quietly.

“I am. And I want kids. But I would be furious if a woman I cared for didn’t give me a chance because she assumed she knew what I wanted. You think you know people.”

His words had rattled her, but pride ran deeper than anything else. “I do.”

“Because you study them? Watch them? You don’t know shit, kid. You have been standing back and watching the world go by ever since Winters sliced you up.”

She flinched. “You cross the line, David.”

“Well, it’s about time somebody did.”

She stood, vibrating with ire. “Like you’re the expert? You, who stood back and watched the woman you loved marry somebody else? You, who’re still standing back and watching as she has baby after baby, building a family with somebody else?”

David jerked, his face going pale beneath his winter tan.

“Yeah,” she said bitterly. “I noticed. Did you ever think about telling Dana how you felt all those years? Or did you assume you knew how she felt? What she wanted?”

The silence hung between them for what seemed like endless minutes. “I knew how she felt,” he finally said. “She didn’t love me. She never did. She lived her life saving other people, doing crazy dangerous things, with never a thought for herself. She didn’t think about herself until she met…”

Eve felt a sharp stab of regret for the words she’d let fly so heedlessly. “Ethan.”

He nodded unsteadily. “Then her life became precious to her, because she could see what it would do to him to have lost her. Because she loves him.”

She felt lower than dirt. “David, I’m sorry.”

“No. You were right. I did watch her marry somebody else, because I did love her. Still do, I guess. But if Dana had ever given me one indication she felt the same way, I promise you, nothing would have held me back. And if she couldn’t have kids, I would have been sad, but it wouldn’t have mattered. Maybe Webster is just a bump in the road. A practice love, if you want. But just maybe he’s your chance to be happy.

“Evie, don’t stand back and watch it pass by. You never know if another chance will come. It’s time to trust your instincts. I’m going back to bed. Don’t burn any more pots.”

She watched him go, hurting. For both of them. But he was wrong. When it came to men, she had lousy instincts. And it wasn’t just kids. It was everything.

For now, she’d go back to what she’d been doing. Spread across her table were the stacks of usage logs and graphs she and Noah had been reviewing. There had to be something to tell them who the next target would be before it was too late to save her.

Wednesday, February 24, 4:25 a.m.

“You should have told me Jack didn’t answer his phone,” Abbott said calmly, his eyes on Rachel’s small house where a small army of CSU and MEs had swarmed.

Noah leaned against his car, watching the neighbors who’d gathered, wondering if their killer ever came back to the scene to watch. To gloat. “I’m sorry. I should have.”

He’d called his boss with the discovery of a fourth murder, and it hadn’t taken Abbott long to realize his staffing had been shaken up a little. Abbott had been most displeased.

“Next time you call out one of my detectives without my explicit permission, I’m going to kick your ass into next week,” Abbott continued in the same calm tone.

“Fine. Just don’t blame Olivia. She was only trying to help.”

“I won’t. I’m blaming you. When were you going to tell me that Jack’s been late to scenes for three weeks? Or has it been longer?”

“Off and on, longer. Depends on the woman in his bed. The women go their own way, and then Jack is back.” Noah shrugged uneasily. “Tonight, with him not showing up at all… That’s abnormal.”

“He’s on his way. He claims you didn’t call him.”

Noah blinked. “What?”

“That’s what he says,” Abbott said.

“He’s pulled that one before, too. ‘Oh, my cell phone has bad reception,’ ” Noah mimicked. He brought up his cell outgoing call log. “I called his cell and his home line.”

Abbott scanned his phone’s screen. “Your fingers did a lot of walking tonight, Noah.”

Noah snapped his phone shut, annoyed. “It’s been an eventful day,” he said tightly.

“That it has. I want you to brief me, then go home and sleep. It’s going to take CSU the better part of the night to process the scene. Tell me what happened.”

So Noah did, starting with Eve’s discovery that her red-zone, Rachel Ward, was not where she was supposed to be, finishing with his and Olivia’s grisly discovery. At this point he was reciting facts, his voice flat and expressionless from fatigue.

“We found his setup in the basement. He’d covered the windows so no one would see the flames. Smoke detectors, disabled. He let the fire lick up the stool he’d tied her to. She’s got third-degree burns, feet and legs. Micki called the fire investigators.”

“Okay,” Abbott said. “I’m up to speed. Go home, Noah. You look like hell.”

“Okay.” It was testament to his exhaustion that he obeyed without argument. He started for his car, then stopped as Jack’s car coasted to a stop in front of his.

Noah waited with Abbott as Jack approached, his cover-boy face haggard. And hung over. Noah recognized the look. He’d seen it in his own mirror enough times.

“Abbott said you called me,” Jack said with no trace of humor. “I never got the call.”

“I called you six fucking times.” Ignoring the guilt in his partner’s eyes, Noah went on. “The first call went out at 2:25. Rachel Ward may have still been alive then.”

Jack shook his head in denial. “I swear to God I never got your call. I fell asleep.”

Noah stepped closer, dropped his voice to a whisper. “After you drank how much?”

The guilt in his eyes gave way to anger. “One. Not that it’s any of your business.”

“No, not my business. But Rachel might think it was hers. She was busy dying while you were sleeping off your one drink.”

Jack’s cheeks grew dark. “You sonofabitch.”

Behind them Abbott cleared his throat harshly and Noah stowed his temper. “Olivia spotted a car leaving this neighborhood at 3:15,” Noah said. “The license plates were registered to Axel Girard’s wife.”

Jack’s eyes flashed. “I told you he was the one. But you said it didn’t make sense.”

Noah had to take a step back, appalled that his hand had actually closed into a fist. He swallowed back the fury and managed to say nothing at all.

Jack flicked a glance down at Noah’s clenched fist “Where is Girard now?”

“In lockup,” Noah said. “I called the car we had parked in front of his house. They said the Girards appeared to have been in bed. But on the off chance that somehow Axel sneaked out to another car, killed Rachel Ward, then teleported himself home in half the time it should have taken him to drive, I had him picked up.” He turned to look at Abbott. “Eight a.m. meeting?”

“Make it nine. Jack, I expect you to have a new cell phone, forthwith.”

The ME techs came out of Rachel’s house, pushing the gurney that held the body bag. Jack swallowed hard before turning, getting into his car, and driving away.

“I should feel bad about what I said,” Noah murmured, “but I don’t.”

“Jack’s on a bad track,” Abbott said. “You can’t save him from himself. Only he can.”

“First step,” Noah said quietly, then realized he’d said it aloud. He’d never revealed his alcoholism to anyone on the force, never even spoken of it to anyone besides Brock and Trina, until he’d blurted it to Eve. And she hadn’t flinched. Now he turned to his boss, whose expression was not judgmental. Noah sighed. “You know.”

“I’ve always known,” Abbott chided. “I told you, it’s my job to know my staff.”

“Which is why you get paid the medium-sized bucks.”

Abbott’s mouth curved, but his eyes didn’t smile. “Go home and sleep. That’s an order. See you at oh-nine. And tell Eve I said thank you. She almost saved the day.”

From under the carport in an empty For Sale house half a block away, Harvey put down his binoculars. “Webster nearly hit Phelps.” He turned to Dell, who’d just arrived, his car parked down the street from Harvey’s Subaru.

Still observing through his zoom lens, Dell smiled. “A crack in the blue wall.”

Dell’s tone had him frowning. “What do you know, son? What have you done?”

Dell shrugged. “Just gave an already shaky relationship a little push, that’s all.”

Harvey was quiet for a long moment. “Phelps was really late getting here tonight,” he finally said. “You told me the boys were on the move an hour ago.”

“It appears Phelps slept in,” Dell said cheerfully.

Harvey considered the circuitous route Webster had taken, the look of weary panic on the man’s face when he’d stopped at the mailbox store. He’d been racing against a clock for the past hour and here they sat, less than a mile from Phelps’s home.

A shiver ran down his spine. “A woman died here. Tell me that matters to you.”

“What matters to me is that V is dead,” Dell said bitterly. “That matters to me.”

“I know that,” Harvey said softly. “I know that every minute of every day.”

“The men who killed him walk free. Do you know that every minute of every day?”

Harvey leaned against the headrest and closed his eyes. “What. Did. You. Do?”

“I’m not going to tell you.” Then Dell gasped when Harvey’s hand shot out and grabbed him by the collar of his parka and twisted, cutting off his air.

Harvey leaned across the gearshift, furious. “You will tell me. Make no mistake. I am your father. I brought you into this world. I can-”

“Take me out,” Dell sneered, his eyes flashing hate. “You know what? I’m not five years old and peeing my pants in fear of you anymore. V’s not here to take my licks, so I’ll take them myself. So hit me, old man. If you think you can.”

Harvey hesitated, feeling a grudging respect for his younger son, who might have finally grown up. He released him with a shove of disgust. “Just tell me what you did.”

“I’ll get as old as you waiting for these cops to fuck up on camera. So, I decided to take control of the situation. I got us a… Trojan Horse.”

“Make some sense, boy,” Harvey snapped.

“I got someone on the inside, a woman. She’s cuddled up to Phelps, made him think she’s got the hots for him. But she watches him, for us.”

“And tonight? You said Phelps overslept.”

Dell shrugged. “She doctored his whiskey bottle a little bit. Just to make him sleep. Obviously not too much, because he actually showed up this time.”

“He hasn’t shown up other times?”

“He’s missed a few days. His partner’s pretty pissed with him. I figure another few episodes like tonight and they’ll turn on each other like the dogs they are.”

What were you thinking, boy? If Phelps had been awake an hour ago, that woman might have lived. “So how have you known when they were on the move?”

“She keeps Phelps’s phone on vibrate,” Dell said, “and waits for a call.”

“That’s how you knew they were going to the Brisbane woman’s on Sunday. You told me the GPS beeps when they move their cars.”

“It does, but she’s a little extra insurance. Sometimes I sleep through the beep.”

“So instead of telling Phelps, she calls you.”

“Yeah. Then she erases all of Webster’s messages and calls from the incoming log. I guess somebody must have called him again after she left, woke him up.”

“You dumb fuck,” Harvey gritted. “If they check with the phone company, they’ll prove Webster called. Then they’ll be on the alert that somebody is fucking with them.”

“They might. They’re so mad right now, they probably won’t. If they do, it won’t matter, because she says Phelps does it himself half the time. Pretends like he hasn’t gotten Webster’s call, that he has no bars. Guy’s a fuckup. I just sped it up a little.”

“But this time, Phelps didn’t do it himself, and this time a woman died. If they check his phone records, this whore of yours will be the first person they haul in. And if you don’t think you’ll be the first person she implicates, you’re dumber than I thought.”

“She won’t talk and I’m far from dumb. I have it all planned out.”

Harvey stared at his son, wondering how Dell had veered off course. He needed to drag his son back on task. “I’ll let this go, this time. But nobody else better die because of you. That’s not the way to fix this and I’m not going down with you. I’ll stop the whole operation first.”

“You’re absolutely right,” Dell said agreeably. “Gotta go.” He hopped out of the Subaru and into his own vehicle and, stomach churning, Harvey watched him go.

Wednesday, February 24, 5:15 a.m.

Noah disobeyed Abbott’s order to go home, stopping by the holding cell where he found Axel Girard, pacing frantically. Girard looked up, wild-eyed with panic.

“I didn’t do anything. You’re ruining my life.”

“I’m trying to save it. I need to talk to you. Will you stop pacing and listen to me?”

Girard stopped, but his body still vibrated with pent energy. “What do you mean, save it?”

“Another woman was murdered tonight,” Noah said. “A car with plates registered to your wife was seen driving away.”

Girard paled. Blindly he sank to the edge of the cot in his cell. “Why?”

“Damn good question. Why do you think someone would target you? Does anybody hate you? Have you pissed anyone off lately?”

Girard pressed his knuckles to his lips. “No. I get along well with my patients, with my neighbors. I don’t have any enemies. How long will you keep me here?”

“I don’t know. I need to find some connection between you and a killer.”

“Oh God,” Girard said, the panic returning to his eyes. “My wife and boys.”

“The plainclothes detectives are still watching your house. Your family is safe.” Noah left holding, finding Abbott standing in the hall outside, frowning. And waiting.

“I had to talk to him,” Noah said. “Had to find out what he knows.”

“And?”

“He says he doesn’t know anything. I’m inclined to believe him. Well, that he doesn’t know he knows, anyway. He’s a squeaky clean guy who couldn’t have made it from the crime scene back to his house before we had him dragged from his bed.”

“Did you tell him another woman was dead?”

“Yeah. He looked shocked. I bought it.”

“Okay. I was going to talk to him, too, but I’ll leave him to ruminate on his nonexistent enemies for a few more hours. Now go home. Go to bed.”

Wednesday, February 24, 5:15 a.m.

He was clean now, the smell of smoke gone, the clothes he’d worn tonight already decomposing in the pit. Carefully he placed Rachel Ward’s shoes next to the men’s Nikes he’d placed there earlier that evening. He adjusted Rachel’s left shoe, making sure it was completely straight, then tilted the round spectacles he’d placed inside one of the Nikes so that it better caught the light. That’s better. He liked things… precise.

They were already at Rachel’s house, the cops. They’d find nothing there that he didn’t intend for them to find. He’d been precise in his execution of Rachel.

He’d thought it all through and concluded that other than speeding up his timeline, nothing terrible had really occurred tonight. The Hats knew about Shadowland. They knew about the participant list. Neither of those things gets them even close to me.

However, Eve’s knowing about Rachel was getting too close. It didn’t matter though. His sixth of the six would be a dark horse. Not on anyone’s list. Not on anyone’s radar.

Still, Eve’s involvement had sped things up too quickly. The press hadn’t caught up to what the police knew, and importantly, what the police did not know. There had not been enough time for the headlines to roil, for police failures and public frustration to mount. The Hat Squad wasn’t close to being ruined. He’d have to let them spin their wheels for a few days. Give the reporters time to close the gap.

In the meantime, he needed to rest. Although he was in good shape, he wasn’t as young as he once was. Pulling this off twenty years ago would have been a piece of cake. Now… Well, he’d need to pace himself. Cut back on the physical and ramp up the mental. Focus on Eve. She was indeed a challenge. He did enjoy a good challenge.

He opened the drawer where he kept the cell phones he took from his victims. It was quite a little walk through the past, amusing to see how far cell phone technology had progressed in the last decade. At the bottom of the drawer were the beepers, positively archaic now. But on the very top of the pile was the cell he was looking for.

He slipped it in his pocket. To make the call from here would be stupid, indeed. It was easier back in the beeper days, he thought. No pesky GPS to give the cops a technological advantage. He’d place this call from a place that would have the cops chasing their tails. A threat and a red herring. A veritable twofer.

Wednesday, February 24, 6:00 a.m.

Eve jerked awake and blearily lifted her head. She’d fallen asleep at her kitchen table, facedown on the stack of usage logs and graphs. Then she muttered a curse. She’d also knocked over the damn mug of cocoa, spilling what was left all over one of the stacks she hadn’t reviewed yet.

There wasn’t much cocoa to clean up, most of it having soaked through the paper. Luckily it was all stored on her hard drive. She’d print this batch again. Quickly she thumbed through the graphs until she came to a page unblemished by brown cocoa stains.

And lowered herself onto a chair. It was a graph showing steady play, upward of sixteen hours a day, and then… nothing. The graph was three weeks old.

Dread cold in her gut, Eve opened her laptop to the list. Subject 036 was Amy Millhouse, an ultra-user. A Google brought the results Eve expected, still her stomach turned over as she clicked the article open and read. Amy Millhouse of West Calhoun was found dead on Sunday, February 7. She had…

“Hung herself,” Eve read aloud. She closed her eyes. “Of course she did.”

Wearily she found her cell phone and hit dial. Noah’s cell was the last call she’d made. The last five calls she’d made. “It’s Eve. I need to talk to you.”

“I’ll be right over.”

“No, you don’t- Wait.” But he’d hung up. She closed her phone, somehow unsurprised at the knock at her door, not five seconds later. He stood on her welcome mat, hat in one hand, cell in the other. Looking like… everything I ever wanted.

“I’ve been standing here for fifteen minutes, trying to decide if I should knock or not,” he said, then one corner of his mouth lifted. “Sure you don’t believe in fate?”

She opened the door wider. “No. Come in.”

He did, putting his hat on her bookshelf. “No, you do, or no you don’t?”

She stared up at him, her head aching. “What was the question?”

He cupped her face in his palm and she wanted to weep. “What’s wrong?”

She didn’t want to utter the words. Not yet. Instead she turned her face into his palm and drew a breath, then drew back, new horror registering. “Rachel was afraid of fire.”

He nodded, his eyes full of pain. “Yes.”

“By how much were we too late?”

“An hour. Maybe two.”

She took a step back. “So while we were eating sandwiches and looking at logs and worrying about Kurt Buckland and trying to find her right address…”

He nodded again. Swallowed hard. “Yes.”

Too late she realized he’d already put himself through this. He’d discovered Rachel, experienced the horror firsthand. She was just adding to his pain. “I’m sorry.”

She wasn’t sure who moved first, but she was in his arms and he was holding her much too tightly. Except she held on just as tightly, fists pressed into his back. He was hard, he was hurting. And he was here. “Why did you come back?” she whispered.

He drew a deep breath that pressed her breasts into his chest. “I went home first,” he said, so quietly she almost didn’t hear. “But there wasn’t anything for me there.”

Oh, Noah. Eve held on for another moment, then pulled away. The words stuck in her throat. She forced them out. “There isn’t anything for you here either. I’m sorry.”

“I don’t believe that,” he said fiercely.

She shook her head, wearily. “Believe what you want. Doesn’t make it any less true.”

He closed his eyes. “Why did you call me then?”

Her chest hurt. “I think I found another one. Her name is Amy Millhouse.”

He opened his eyes and they were blank, like all those times at Sal’s. “Show me.”

He followed her into the kitchen and looked at the graph, at the obituary, and his shoulders sagged. “MPD would have responded to this suicide. I must have read this report. I didn’t find any scenes remotely resembling Martha and Samantha’s.” He went too still and she could see he’d thought of something he didn’t like.

“But?” she asked.

“But Jack read half of them. I couldn’t find him tonight. Rachel was a mile from his house and he didn’t answer. Said he didn’t get my calls. Said he’d fallen asleep.”

“Sunday night, at Sal’s, he checked his phone three times before you came.”

“I know. Brock told me.”

“Will you report him?”

His shoulders sagged further. “I already did. I had to.”

“I’m sorry.”

He jerked his head around to glare at her. “Stop saying that.” I hurt him.

I never wanted to hurt him. “Sit down, Noah. I need to explain something to you.”

The kitchen chair creaked under his weight. She sat, folded her hands.

“Well?” he said sharply.

“I’m trying to figure out what to say,” she snapped back. “I could say, ‘It’s not you, it’s me,’ but you won’t buy that. I tried ‘I’m broken,’ but you didn’t accept that either. You read about what happened to me, with Winters.”

“Yes.” He bit the word. “And if a con hadn’t killed him in prison, I’d be tempted to.”

“You’d have to stand in line, I think. He was a very bad man. But very handsome. He had… charisma. Most people in his hometown liked him. He was a cop.”

“I know. I read that. You said he was looking for his wife and son.”

“Caroline and Tom. They’d escaped, started a new life. Tom and I became friends and he was never supposed to tell anyone what happened to him, but he had to talk to someone. He told me everything, every slap, every burn… Tom hated him.”

“I can understand that.”

“They ran away, came to Chicago. Dana, my guardian, helped women like Caroline start over.” She hesitated, then shrugged. “Dana faked IDs, procured Socials.”

His brows lifted. “She really put herself out there. And Hunter?”

“Knew it all. Never participated in any of the borderline illegal stuff, but he did his part, odd jobs. Kept the shelter physically functional.”

“Fixed the roof?”

She smiled sadly. “Yeah. But that was long after Caroline first came. By the time I met her, Caro had her GED, a job at a university, was working on her degree. I worked for her, in the history department’s office. She always made me feel like I belonged.”

“Then?”

“Our old boss died and David’s brother, Max, came in to replace him.”

Noah was frowning. “Max Hunter. I know that name.”

“Played for the Lakers, eons ago. Tall, handsome, tortured soul.” Like you, she thought, but kept that to herself. “Max was in an accident that ended his sports career. He went back to school, became a professor, and years later, our department chair. And I did what any normal red-blooded eighteen-year-old girl would have done.”

“Fell for him?”

“Like a rock. But Max only had eyes for Caroline. When I realized that, I said some things I really shouldn’t have to both of them, things that with anyone else would have burned my bridges to the ground. But Caroline loved me.” Eve had to clear her throat.

“What we didn’t know was that Caro’s ex had found her. He wanted Tom back and he wanted Caroline to pay. I’d gone to Caro’s to apologize for the things I said, and Winters was there, searching for Tom. Tom was gone for the weekend. Camping trip, as I recall. Winters sized me up, saw I was young, stupid, and very vulnerable. He pretended to be a maintenance guy named Mike. He pretended to have sympathy for my faux pas with Max. He pretended to think I was attractive.”

“You were,” Noah said fiercely. “You are.”

“I was. He asked me out, got me drunk. No, he bought the beer. I willingly drank every drop he poured in my glass. I was so not legal and so didn’t care. I willingly took him home and… willingly entertained him.”

A muscle twitched in Noah’s cheek, but he said nothing.

“Next morning he tried to go. I tried to keep him with me, tried to get him to want me again.” She closed her eyes, this part as clear as if it were happening right now. “I put on his coat, danced a little, and a picture fell out of his pocket. A baby picture of Tom. I knew Caro had left Tom’s baby pictures behind when she’d run years before.”

“And then you knew,” he said quietly, and she opened her eyes to see he’d paled.

“And then I knew. The rest you know. Stab, stab, slice, slice, strangle with twine, and left me for dead. I did die. Twice. I’m damn lucky to be here.”

He tried to speak, pursed his lips. “Eve…”

“It’s all right, Noah. It’s past. But I need you to understand. No one can live through something like that and not be changed. Hell, I was screwed up enough before I ended up in Dana’s shelter. My mother was an addict, would sell her soul for a hit.”

“And her daughter, too?” Noah asked, hoarse.

“No. Because I ran. Got caught, stuck in foster. Ran again, different foster. Ran again and made it to Chicago. I would have had a hard enough time forming attachments, having a normal relationship with any man, but now… It’s just not possible.”

He met her eyes. “Why? I still don’t understand.”

Her cheeks heated. “Fine. After Winters, I had a hysterectomy. Everything’s gone.”

He exhaled. “That’s it?”

She glared at him. He looked immensely relieved. “No, that’s not it. But it’s enough.”

“So? You can’t have kids. I don’t care, Eve.”

“You say that.”

“I mean that.”

She smiled at him, trying to lessen the sting. “You think you mean that. And if that were ‘it’ then I’d give you the opportunity to find out for yourself. But that’s only part of it. Noah, I…” She shrugged, her smile gone. “I wake up at night, screaming like it’s happening all over again. And I’m… violent. Really violent.”

“You’re worried you’d hurt me?” he asked incredulously.

“I know I would. Sometimes I walk in my sleep. I’ve woken up in the kitchen, a butcher knife in my hand. I used to lock myself in my bedroom at the shelter so that I didn’t hurt anyone by accident. Most of the time I just didn’t sleep. I became a creature of the night.” She forced a smile. “Slept odd times during the day. Still do.”

He nodded slowly. “So… that’s it?”

She rolled her eyes. “Goddammit, what will it take to make you go away?”

“More than that. Is that it?”

“No.” She stood up, poured herself a cup of coffee that had long grown cold, then set it aside. “I just don’t want to be with anyone. Can’t you accept that?”

“Eve, look at me.” His voice was low and so warm. She turned stiffly, as if a giant hand forced her. Met his gaze because somehow he commanded it. His eyes glittered. “Tell me you don’t want me and I promise I’ll go away.”

She wanted to. Needed to. But could not. So she closed her eyes and said nothing.

“I thought as much,” he said quietly. “You need time, that’s fine. I have time. You need space, I’ll give you space. And if you ever tell me to go away and mean it, I will. But for now, I’m here. I came back because I needed to. Eve, I needed you.”

And then he was there, his arms tight around her again. He rested his cheek against her hair and she had to try, once more. For his own good. “I’m not a good bet, Noah.”

“Neither am I. Let’s just see where it goes, okay?”

She remained unconvinced. “I’ll hurt you,” she said tonelessly.

“I’ll hide the knives,” he said, wry amusement in his voice, but she couldn’t smile.

There was more, so much more, and she didn’t have words to tell him. He’ll figure it out himself and then he’ll leave on his own. And you can tell him “I told you so.”

She knew it would be a hollow victory. She pulled away. “Have you eaten?”

He frowned slightly. “Not since the last time you fed me.”

“Sit.” She had opened the fridge when her cell phone chirped. “Text,” she said and read the screen. Then froze, her mouth open.

Noah took the phone from her hand. “ ‘Didn’t your parents teach you not to get into cars with strange men?’ What the hell does that mean?”

Eve’s knees went weak and she didn’t fight when Noah pushed her into a chair. “That’s the last thing Rob Winters said before he killed me.”